


Shawn Panics and Ensemble Get a Clue

by aHostileRainbow



Series: Mostly BAMF: A Collection of Small Fries Kicking Ass (Literally or Figuratively) [21]
Category: Psych
Genre: BAMF Shawn Spencer, Drabble, Reveal, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-11
Updated: 2017-06-11
Packaged: 2018-11-12 22:55:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11171817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aHostileRainbow/pseuds/aHostileRainbow
Summary: Shawn may not be psychic, but his mind works enough like magic at this point. It runs in the family.





	Shawn Panics and Ensemble Get a Clue

Shawn's hands were shaking. He had shot someone. _He had shot someone._

One of his hands rose without his permission and clamped over his mouth. Jumping to his feet, he continued ignoring the stares and fussing from everyone crowded into the office, rushing for the door - but he was thwarted by his father barging in, taking one look at his pale face and dragging him back to his seat. Carefully placing himself to block all view of the rest of the room, Henry sighed while Shawn glared weakly up at him, trying to remember why he'd been stupid or crazy enough to insist Vick call his dad in.

Henry just shook his head and put their audience out of his mind - right now, his son was his priority.

Raising an eyebrow at said son's sudden slump into the chair, apparently too exhausted to even keep glaring at his old man. So, Henry indulged a little, resting a heavy hand on Shawn's hair, sliding it through and down to squeeze the nape of his neck. Some of the tension dropped from Shawn's shoulders and he only protested halfheartedly when Henry ordered, "Eyes closed."

Henry squeezed once more at the grumbling and smiled briefly as the tightness stringing his son melted entirely away.

"How many hats, kid?"

Shawn might as well have been hypnotized for how tranquil he sounded in his response.

"Two in this room, you're wearing your favorite fishing cap and Gus is trying on that sunhat I bought him. Seven outside, three uniforms on the rookies by the far left window, two on desks - Jules' and O'Leary's - Jules' is a pink sunhat, a gift from her mother, O'Leary's is an Angels ball cap. The last two... one on the redhead who came in to report a burglary, it's purple and and she's holding it in her lap, very polite, from an upper class family clearly, but estranged. Then Buzz is passing through with a beanie in an evidence bag, from the assault on Mayers, it counts because it's got a stiff brim."

Henry checked off his own mental catalog and nodded, letting his grip on Shawn go. Narrowing his eyes a little as his boy's eyes blinked open to meet them, he returned to hardass habits that he knew would knock the last of the distraction from Shawn's zoned expression.

"What about the blonde?" Obligingly, Shawn rolled his eyes at his father and snapped back, "A bandana is not a hat, Dad, that's just reaching."

Of course, as he rolled his eyes, Shawn was reminded of their gaping audience and groaned.  _Shit_.


End file.
